


meet you on the moon.

by bhubblemilk



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-11-08 11:50:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17980784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bhubblemilk/pseuds/bhubblemilk
Summary: Chan didn’t even want to be the head boss of his family’s crime syndicate, and he certainly did not ask to be a full-time uncle of his sister’s only daughter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 'Samchon' is a term that is used to address your uncle so you would be calling Chan that throughout most of the story (i just thought it would be more appropriate that way?).
> 
> Mafia really isn’t my strong suit, but endearing platonic relationship (hopefully) is so this would be fun!
> 
> I promise the title will make sense at the end.

Chan’s knuckles were bruised.

He hadn’t even realized he had beat up the person that hard until Changbin gently dropped a bowl of ice water at his desk in the office and told him to sink his hands into them for reducing the swelling.

Small talks were made on his way back to the base, after a nerve-wracking drug deal, maybe a little too nerve-wracking for Chan’s own good. It was so bad that he had started to beat up the caporegime, and he was never the man to initiate violence.

He was always calm and thoughtful. He supposed it was what he has to be when he has immense paranoia lurking around the back of his head every other day. Whether it was when he sits alone at night, with the clock ticking too loudly, or when he walks alone when the sky is dark and the street lamp starts flickering fast.

Most of the time, Chan suppresses the feeling. He steps the paranoia down and throws it across the hall of his brain the way he did with fear, with sadness, and with attachment. Leaving only logic and senses behind.

Avoid conflicts, lay low, and if trouble manages to knock at his doorstep? Deal with it. Not emotionally, but clinically.

It was what he was taught to do. It was what he has to do because if he lets the overwhelming emotion trickle into his veins, it will spread and he will inevitably break down.

Chan tries to suppress his emotions and he is successful, most of the time. But it was hard not to care sometimes, even though the very reasons why he cares were the very things that contain the most possibility of inflicting him immeasurable pain.

His family who had been murdered one by one around him, his friends who stuck with him through thick and thin, and the half-moon shaped locket that was dangling at the tip of your fingers.

It had belonged to his older sister, he recognized, but the person holding the necklace wasn’t her.

Chan didn’t need to raise his hand for Woojin to lower the gun he had gripped tightly in his hand, shoving it back into the holster while his careful eyes bore holes into your figure.

You had flinched at the abrupt movement, waiting for the bullet that was never shot and fearing the violence that never came, and you still were when Chan opened his mouth to speak, his gravelly voice bouncing off the walls of the small office.

“Who send you here?” Was all Chan asked. It was a simple question, but the alerted gaze of all four men who stood in front of you was frightening you into a trembling state.

“Uh… I… my mom sent me here,” you replied, gulping down the nervousness, “She told me before that… if something happened I have to go here…” you pointed at the moon locket where a small piece of paper was laid scrolled up inside, with an address that you came to know belonged to the rather shady part of the district, a place that you used to live far away from. “And find someone named Bang Chan.”

Your mother particularly drilled the instructions in your head ever since you were young, in a non-threatening way, of course. If anything is to happen, take a cab so you can’t be followed, or take public transportation where there will always be a large sea of people around. Head to the place written in the small paper and remember, clearly, find Bang Chan.

Chan’s fists tightened on his lap. He had a sense of who you were, if you were really… well, you. For all he knew, the girl standing in front of him could have been an imposter. He could never be too careful in this line of work, especially not when there is a feud between his family and another. People would go all lengths to see Chan fall to his knees.

“And your mom’s name is?”

“Bang Chaewon,” you answered briefly before you raised the necklace in your hand. “Uh, she–she was the one who gave me this, actually, this isn’t mine. She told me to find Bang Chan and to not mix the name up with someone else's–”

“That’s me, I’m Bang Chan. Your mother, she is my older sister,” Chan informed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “What happened? Why are you here?”

You backed up a little, your eyes widened in shock at the new information that your mind wasn’t letting you process. And in the midst of your small breakdown of confusion, you failed to notice how everyone else in the room has relaxed in one way or another. Their shoulders slumped, their gaze went soft, gentle words were muttered under their breathe at your sudden appearance.

“She hasn’t been home for weeks. She never does that so I assume this is the thing that she told me about,” you said with doubt laced heavily in your eyes and your voice. “Wait, you’re my uncle? That’s not right, mom said I only have one uncle. He sends me birthday gifts every year but he never shows up. I know his name isn’t Chan–”

“Christopher, right? That is me, I go by Christopher too,” Chan voiced, cutting you off.

His voice had gone tender and his eyes, although still careful, was sizing you up with a feeling akin to nostalgia and also remorse. He finally came face to face with the niece he had heard so much about, but sadly this encounter wasn’t due to a joyful event like he would have hoped for it to be.

He gestured toward the sweater that you had worn over your school blouse, “Got that for you on my trip to Sydney. You said everyone in your school started wearing branded clothing so I got you one for your birthday. I see it still fits you, huh?”

Your cheeks reddened slightly. That was in one of your letters to Santa Claus. There was no way someone other than Christopher, who apparently was your Santa Claus and also the man seated at the table in front of you, would have known that you were feeling left out in school because you weren’t able to follow certain trends that everyone was doing.

“Oh…” You muttered out, shifting your weight to ease out the tension of your body.

Your eyes were focused on Chan, the way his were on you. Both of you were simply taking in the sight of each other, with mostly the kind of awkwardness that you feel when you try to talk to a stranger, but also a tinge of comfort deep within. A kind of familiarity that comes from the little impact that you two had left on each other’s life indirectly, just barely brushing past each other’s mind from time to time.

This was not how you planned for things to happen. You had wanted to tell your uncle thank you for all the things he had gotten you for the past years and all the small notes of encouragement he had left in the gift bags, for supporting you and your mom unconditionally. But that ideal encounter was thrown out the window, the second the gun was aimed at you.

“Come here, (Name), sit.”

Chan’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts and quickly, you nodded and headed over to the chair in front of the desk. You sat down, your thumbs running in circles around each other on your lap as you looked around, and for the first time since you walked into the room, you were able to clearly look the three other people who stood by Chan’s desk.

“Hi,” you muttered out a small greeting when you met eyes with one of them, watching as the corner of his lips quirked up into an amused smirk and his chin tilted up a little to greet you back silently. The knowing look on his face told you that he, too, knew who you are already.

“That’s Minho, he is… ” Chan sucked in a sharp breath, almost spilling out Minho’s position in the organization. Turning back to you, Chan let out the question tentatively, “(Name), do you know about your family?”

You shrugged, “No, not much. Mom never talked to me about it. All I know is that I have an uncle and my grandparents are dead before I was even born.”

But you were starting to have your doubts. The caution that the four of them displayed when you first swung the door open was hardly trivial, it almost felt as if they were trying to scare someone away. Their hardened gaze and the gun still sent shivers down your spine.

Chan leaned back against his chair, a deep sigh escaping his parted lips as he crossed his arms, and for the first time you noticed his bruised knuckles. Your hand instinctively flew to cover your own as you peeled your eyes away to look somewhere else.

And Chan? He was too busy thinking to notice your mild discomfort. Chaewon had lied to you, and Chan understood that. Knowing your family runs a large organized crime group in the country does things to your head, even when nothing much was really happening.

Chan knew that all too well, that there is always this continuous paranoia that never goes away.

The clanks of bullet shells and death’s grim voices linger in your head. The ticking clocks and flickering lights never go away.

And it would be such a disappointment to himself if Chan ever let that kind of pain be a part of your life. Therefore, perhaps it would be best that Chan stretches out the peaceful facade as much as he could too, for your sake and to fulfill his sister’s desire.

Chan smiled a little as he slowly gestured towards his left, “That’s Minho, and standing next to him is Changbin.” He moved his hand over to the right, “And this is Woojin.”

You caught sight his bruised hands again and you flinched inwardly, wondering what had possibly happened to him. But wanting to return his attempt at making the atmosphere more cheerful, you didn’t let the thought linger too much in your mind and instead, you smiled, nodding your head politely at the three people who were just introduced to you.

“Uh… so, samchon…?” You tested the kinship term with your voice, feeling weird that you no longer had to use a pen to spell out the word anymore as you anxiously waited for Chan’s reaction, at the end only seeing a raise of an eyebrow and a low hum of acknowledgment that urged you to continue.

You smiled, fully, “Oh, okay! Um, what do I do now?”

Assuming that your mother was already dead, that would only mean the rival family had gotten a hold of your information. The only thing they wouldn’t know about was that your mother had given you a backdoor that leads to Chan.

Going back to your original home would just be a countdown to your death sentence. But would staying with him be any safer for you? Would it make things any easier for Chan to have one more vulnerability?

Your mere presence screamed liability to Chan.

_Think, Chan, think._  The voice of his father’s best friend, who was the second-in-command, echoed in his mind. _Remember to deal with situations clinically, Chan. Unemotionally and with detachment._

The best thing would be to just send you away, somewhere far away, completely out of reach from the hands of retribution.

“Samchon?”

Oh, you sounded like the baby videos your mother used to send him during holidays, the only times he could see you tearing open boxes after boxes that were wrapped perfectly in festive wrapping papers.

Memories were flooding back in, bringing a bag of positive emotions and breaking holes through the brick walls Chan had spent so long building up. Those times when he went to pick presents for you with Changbin, those times when he read your mother’s letters about your growth progress, when he read the first letter of heavily misspelled words that you sent him. He had felt comfort, proud, giddy even.

Chan tries to suppress the feeling, but there are cases where his method doesn’t work. And you happened to be one of the cases, whether because he felt guilty that you were born into the wrong family or because he felt sad that he was never really there for you and your mom, and that you should have had a family, not a half-dead tree with a barely qualified uncle lurking at the sidelines and a father who had run away.

Or fear. The fear that you would end up just like everyone else in the family, the fear of having the last standing family member to, too, be stripped away from him was so strong that he couldn’t trust even the ocean to keep you safe but himself.

Chan only wanted you to be happy and safe, but it’s hard to have both at the same time when your family runs outside the law.

Woojin noticed the visible conflict that was shown on Chan’s face, and he knew that Chan never gets like this unless it was one of those rare times when he was debating about being logical or following his mind.

Woojin sighed and he nudged Chan slightly, causing the younger boy to look up at him. Woojin eyed Minho and Changbin briefly before casting his eyes back down at Chan.

“There is a reason why you’re still alive, Chan,” Woojin whispered, “Besides… there’s four of us.”

She’ll be safe with us, at least. Was what Woojin was trying to say. Chan exhaled slowly, turning his head over to look at Minho and Changbin for any hint of protest or disagreement. The two one sent Chan an encouraging smile, both seemed to know exactly what Chan was thinking about without having to ask.

Looking back at you, at your eyes that felt too much like Chaewon’s, and Chan wondered since when did you grow to resemble your mother so much? Come to think of it, you had stopped wanting a lot of things as you grew up, and you had come to stop believing in Santa Claus too.

Chan noticed that when the letters ceased to arrive at the mailbox, and the ten minutes of joyful feelings during a festive holiday also stopped appearing. But he had assumed you were too busy hanging out with your friends or catching up with school, and your lack of materialistic desires had only meant you found what’s more important than a branded clothing.

You’ve grown up well. And Chan would like to keep it that way.

“We’re going to try and find your mom. As for now, it’ll be better for you to stay with me,” Chan said, nodding at you.

You gulped. He wasn’t even trying to hide his hands anymore, he was just blatantly shoving the wounds in your face. That pairing up with the little clues you had picked up as you talked with Chan, whether it was the slight change of expression or the way they had whispered to each other just then, were prompting your imagination to run wild.

But you have nowhere else to go, and if your dangerous assumption was correct, being alone would not be your best option. Besides, your mother sent you here, she wouldn’t send you somewhere unsafe, right?

So, you nodded.

* * *

The car ride was silent.

Chan had focused on the road ahead, one hand on the tire and the other propped up against the window panel, with a cigarette dangling carelessly out the opened window.

You sat behind him, a look of utter disapproval on your face as you watched the smoke disappear into thin air. Chan seemed to have caught onto your disgusted expression after some time, and he had dropped the cigarette out the window before the traffic light turned green.

He parked right next to the apartment estate you and your mother used to live in, having to come all the way back to get your belongings because you didn’t think to pack anything even when you were heading somewhere far from where your home was.

Letting you lead the way, Chan followed closely behind as you and he entered the shabby elevator that stopped at the fifth floor, and you two walked along the hall of a dirty brick wall and, much to Chan’s dismay, flickering lights at every corner.

“Here we are,” you said as you stopped in front of a gate. Unlocking the door with your key, you gently pushed the door open and quickly reached out to flick the light switch on.

It had become a habit, turning the lights on without even stepping inside yet. You hated seeing the living room all dark and scary when you returned home. It just reminded you of the absence of your mother.

Chan followed in but he stayed in the living room, waiting for you to get all that you needed. In the meantime, he spent the free minutes looking around the living room and once again gaining a nostalgic, remorseful feeling.

Your mother had made the living room an embodiment of your younger self, with your drawings hung up on the wall and a height chart full of pen marks stuck to the back of the door. Chan’s fingers grazed the letters gently as a soft smile appeared despite his heavy heart.

Everything in this room led back to you, and you reminded him of his sister, who he should have still be here.

“Ugh, please don’t look at those, I was young and I did not know that I don’t have artistic genes,” you grimaced when you found Chan staring at the crayon-filled papers on the wall, pulling up the strap of your duffle bag so it lays on your shoulder more securely.

“What are you talking about? I think they’re great,” Chan mused, “Better than mine when I was younger.”

You grumbled at him before making your way into the kitchen, coming back out with a whisk and causing Chan to give you a questioning glance.

You shrugged as you stuffed the whisk in the duffle bag, “I like to bake.”

“Why that specific whisk?” Chan asked.

“Hmm, I don’t know, I guess I just really like that one,” you replied, walking near Chan with everything prepared. You’ve got your clothes, your electronics, your textbooks, and everything. You supposed those were all you’d need for now.

“We’re good?” He asked, looking down at you for confirmation, and as you replied, the door creaked opened slowly.

It was probably the wind. It was definitely just the wind. You weren’t turning you head excessively to look at the sound so he supposed this happens all the time.

“Okay,” Chan forced a smile before he turned the look straight ahead at the door that was slightly ajar, just in time to catch sight of the clock that was ticking right by the top, signaling the seconds that went by since the door had pushed itself open.

There is always a five seconds gap before everything goes downhill, Chan had counted.

Five seconds before his grandfather got shot in the head, five seconds before his little brother got run down by a car in front of him, five seconds before someone bursted into the room and tell him his parents were dead.

_Five._

And by that point, Chan was already too numb to feel surprised. It was just dreadful acknowledgment.

Chan found himself grounded to the floor, fear clawing at the back of his head as he picked up even the smallest sounds and movements. He glanced at you briefly, gulping at your casual state that was looking at him with confusion etched in your smile.

_Four._

And Chan started to get terrified. He had been, the moment he looked into your eyes in the hideout office.

_Three._

Chan can defend himself, he knew that.

_Two._

But can he be so sure that he can defend you when push comes to shove and there were too many factors that come into the equation?

Distance, ignorance, even a small distraction and oops, there goes the bullet, slipping right past the skin of his arm and towards the people he cares about.

It takes five seconds for things to go downhill.

_One._

The door flung open and you gasped in shock when Chan grabbed you by your collar, pulling you to his chest quickly as his free hand tugged out the gun that was strapped to his waist, hidden in plain sight.

“What the–samchon, what are you doing?” You had turned to look at the intruder, and when you saw Chan pointing a gun at your friendly old neighbor, there were two things that crossed your mind: your family definitely was not as peaceful as you were told and you were in desperate need of an explanation.

Pulling yourself away, you sent Chan a small glare before walking over to the old man, taking his weak hands into yours and calming him down. It took a bit convincing, but the man eventually left uneasily.

When you returned your attention back to Chan, you wanted to burst into a fit of frustration but you thought better of it as you recalled how things had unfolded.

You were put in a protected stance, with his hand securely behind your head and his weapon out. Chan’s intention wasn’t to put you in danger but to keep you away from it. And that was fine, despite the situation being completely misinterpreted. If anything, you thought you should be grateful that someone was willing to stick by you from the moment they met you.

That kind of loyalty doesn’t just grow on trees.

“There are things you’re not telling me,” you said, pursing your lips together as you waited for a reply.

Chan sighed. He could practically see the suspicion in your eyes, and whether you were doubting him or the story your mother had told you about the family, you’ve somehow cracked the lie.

So much for keeping the truth away from you.

“I know, but can we talk about this after we get back?” Chan asked, moving over to the door. The flickering lights came into sight then, and the clock was ticking right above him, overwhelming his senses altogether. For a man who had seen enough bloodshed for the past years, many would have expected these little superstitious things to go unnoticed, but all Chan wanted to do was get out of this place.

“I promise I will tell you everything.” He said again, reaching his hand out, “As soon as we get back.”

You gently twirled your ankle, gripping the strap of your duffle bag a little tighter as your eyes scanned him. He looked indifferent but his tone exuded exhaustion. His hand still displayed pits of red and purple, and you kind of had a better idea of why the blood was there in the first place.

And it was just at the back of your head, covering you up from potential danger.

You made a couple steps forward.

The clock was ticking, the lights were flickering, Chan’s knuckles were bruised.

And you took his hand.

* * *

The roads were dark after Chan parked the car in a public parking lot and brought you along with him to the pedestrian street. You followed closely behind him as you two crossed several roads before finally arriving at the entrance of a grand-looking hotel that was located in the intersection of the spacious road, with multiple restaurants and shops going down each side across from the hotel.

You squinted a little as you looked up at the huge sign of its name splattered across with sparkling gold lights, scoffing at how over the top the decorations were as your eyes slowly moved down the building and at last towards the glass door of the lobby, where people were coming in and out of taxis and cars.

“You live here?” You asked, catching up to walk alongside him when you two marched into the crowded lobby full of loud, excited tourists.

“It’s safer,” Chan responded curtly, glancing around the area.

His eyes traveled from the reception desk to the fancy couches lying in the waiting area. Kids ran in circles around the marble columns with their parents chatting up with each other at the side, bellhops were carrying carts of heavy luggage to the elevators, people were helping one another take pictures at the mini signs that were put at display in front of the water fountain that located in the middle of the lobby—this place is always packed with people, and the security is good due to the hotel being a national branch.

It was the safest place for Chan to reside in.

After getting out of the elevator, it took you guys three turns before you arrived at the middle of the hallway, where Chan stopped and swiped the key card against the lock. It beeped with a green light and the door opened.

The room was bigger than you had expected. The dull decorations of the hallway, red carpet floor and gold wallpaper with lights that were too dim, made it seemed as if it would reflect the rooms inside the big brown doors.

A king-sized bed was placed in the middle of the room and pushed all the way to the back of the wall. Next to it were two nightstands on each end, one sat a lamp and the other a telephone with multiple light switches on the wall above. There was a long couch on the other side, right next to the broad window that gave you the perfect view of the outside.

You took your shoes off and placed them neatly to the side before dropping your things on the floor and walking straight towards the window, pressing your palms to its cold surface and staring out with fascination. The view did not look this surreal when you were walking down there. It looked down Disney main street at night, with all the lights and the people.

Chan had taken off his jacket as soon as he closed the door and he, for the first time, placed it neatly on the back of the chair instead of slinging it to the side of the bed like he usually does with all his clothes. Reaching down to the floor, he picked up the socks and pants that had been laying around, deciding to finally put them into the laundry bag.

As he smoothed out his pants that had been turned inside out, his eyes had grazed past the piece of fabric and moved to you, who kneeled on the cushion seat by the window, blowing air at the pane and drawing random things before erasing it completely.

He chuckled at your childish antics, moving away and shoving the last of his clothes into the laundry bag before calling out to you, making you turn around to see him beckoning you over to the desk by the wall.

You got off the chair and made your way over, sitting on the chair across from him and putting your chin on the back of your palm, waiting for Chan to keep talking and to give you the explanation that you deserved.

“Do you want some food?” Chan asked suddenly, handing you the room service menu that you took after a moment of contemplation.

“Are these for free?” You asked, scrolling down the list of appetizers and main dishes.

“No, there are prices at the side.”

“Oh right,” your smile dimmed when you glanced over at the huge numbers (on a food scale) and you let out a small whine, putting down the menu carefully. “Do you have cup noodles instead? These are… expensive.”

Chan raised an eyebrow at you in amusement. There was no way you would think that he couldn’t afford a simple meal in a luxurious hotel. All your presents accumulated together were enough evidence that Chan is a guy with too much money in his hands.

“It’s okay, I got it. You have to eat something,” Chan insisted, pointing back at the leaflet.

You shook your head, “No, I’m okay. Do you have anything to drink instead?”

“Uh,” Chan stood up and walked over to the night table. He crouched down and opened the cabinet, where the mini fridge was located and pulled out a bottle of orange juice from inside. He walked back over to you and slid the bottle over to your side before plopping back down on the chair.

“Thanks,” you said, turning open the lid and taking a quick sip, “So, tell me about my family, samchon.”

Chan’s feet tapped against the carpet floor, still wanting to stall out as much time as he could but seeing your impatient gaze, he decided to would just drop the act and give you a straightforward and easy answer, nothing too in-depth on what they do on a daily basis.

“Your family–our family runs a crime organization in South Korea,” Chan said, leaning back abasing the chair.

You blinked, “Like a mob?”

Chan nodded, causing your eyebrows to furrow a little. Not in confusion, but more so in contemplation as batches of action films flickered across your eyes. Your eyes squinted at the same time as you tried to cultivate an image of your supposed criminalistic family, staring at Chan’s otherwise young and delicate features with a hint of disbelief that had seeped into the low of your hum.

“So do we like… do drugs and kidnap people?”

“Almost, but we don’t do human trafficking or anything like that,” Chan explained, watching your reaction with sharp eyes. He was afraid of even the tiniest fear that you could show him, the fact that you would be afraid of him, or disappointed, or disgusted, or all of that above. And like everyone else, you would leave.

Except you would be voluntarily running away, and Chan wasn’t sure if he could handle that.

“But you do kill people?” You asked.

Chan bit his lower lip slightly, “Yes.”

You glanced down at the surface of the table. It wasn’t like he has a choice, right? It was either kill or be killed in this industry, and you supposed in a world like this, it had always been every man for themselves. Chan had to coat his hands with the blood of others, be it directly or indirectly, to save his own neck.

His bloodied hands. You trust them, somehow.

“So I am here not because there is nowhere else for me to go but because staying with you would be my safest option?” You suggested.

Chan hummed, shifting his weight uneasily, “Well, the safest thing to do would be to send you somewhere else. To another country where you are completely out of reach from the Parks.”

“And the Parks are?”

“Our family go way back with them. We never interfered with each other’s businesses, but when I was younger, probably about five years old, my grandfather shot their boss’s wife and started a whole mess,” Chan waved his hand before letting it land on his thigh, “A never-ending cycle of eliminating the family members of each side. My father stopped participating after your great grandfather died but the Parks carried on with the tradition.”

“So yeah, as long as you’re in Korea, you’re going have a target on your back, because you’re my niece,” Chan rubbed his eyes with his fingers, recalling the earlier days of his life. It wasn’t a very joyful sight, all he could rememberer was that it happened from funeral to another. “And because you are the last one standing. Not counting me and your father, wherever the fuck he is.”

You swallowed the knot in your throat. Chan left zero space for you to hope for your mother’s well-being. Disappearing for weeks was now less likely a case of getting lost and more likely a case of homicide, now that you knew of the truth that your mother had been hiding from you. You touched the moon-locket your neck, playing with the charm.

“I won’t feel safe by myself, samchon,” you finally uttered after a moment of silence.

Chan hummed questioningly despite the statement being straightforward.

You sighed, “I guess hiding somewhere far away would be a good option, but I don’t think I will be safe by myself. And honestly, I don’t feel like being alone right now. At least not until I fully digest this.”

“I wasn’t going to send you away either,” Chan informed, “But if you feel like you’re ready and you have thoughts about leaving Korea, you tell me. Okay, kid?”

“Okay,” you nodded grimly, still playing with the moon charm. That was about all that you needed to know. Adding more information in your wouldn’t build you a defense wall, nor would it change the way your family was structured. Everything was already set and you would have to deal with it from now on.

You looked up after a moment, “I am not obligated to join the organization, right?”

“Oh no, I will prefer you not to,” Chan laughed audibly, for the first time since you’ve met him, and it made you relax automatically. Pointing at the menu once again, Chan looked at you, “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat? It’s dinner time.”

You scrunched up your nose, picking the paper up once again, “I kind of want some ramen. Oh! And over there,” you suddenly stood up from your chair, moving over to the window and pointing outside, the tip of your index finger coming in contact with the surface. “Come here, samchon!”

Chan stood up and approached you, leaning over to look a the direction you were pointed at. He squinted his eyes, “What?”

“Over there,” you jabbed your finger at the pane, “Do you see the boba shop? I want some boba.”

“With ramen?” Chan stood back up straight, his voice bewildered, “At this time of day? Do you want to sleep well tonight?”

You pouted a little, pulling away from the window to glance up at him, “Come on, I really want some boba. I’ll recommend you a drink too, it’s better than all those beers you have lying in the fridge,” you gestured towards the cabinet with a sly smirk.

You smiled giddily up at him, giving him even more reason to cave in.

“Fine,” Chan clicked his tongue in faint annoyance, pinching the tip of your nose before he turned away with the hotel menu in his hand. He walked over to the telephone by the bed and picked it up, “But only this time. You get addicted to these things!”

“Just like you with alcohol and smoking,” you retorted, quickly looking away when Chan threw a glare your way.

You faced out the window, only turning back to glance at Chan when you heard him talking on the phone. You blinked a few times at his side-profile. Now that you looked at it, it wasn’t just his knuckles that were bloodied up. His arms were veiny and partially filled with scars that were too big to go unnoticed.

You wonder what had happened to get himself all scarred up like that.

“The food should arrive in a few minutes,” Chan said after he put the phone back. He dropped the menu down on the night-table and grabbed some clothes from the edge of the bed, “I’m taking a shower, okay. If someone knocks, tell them to leave the food outside and make sure they are gone before you open the door.”

You nodded, showing Chan a thumbs up and watching him head into the other door before a small click could be heard. You turned your attention back to the window, finding solace in the crowd of people walking down the road.

Funny how you never really liked places with too many people but now you have to search for shelter in them.

You pressed your palm to the window, letting the icy feeling numb your skin as your eyes focused on the back of your palm, specifically at your knuckles.

Chan’s hands were wounded, but you trust them, somehow.

You trust him.


	2. meet you on the moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: curses, violence, bad writing from me (as you will know if you read my stuff).

When Chan opened his eyes to adjust to the morning light, you were already crouching by the corner of the table, your chin propped on the surface of the table as you faced him with a small pout after a couple failed attempts at waking him up.

You made a mental note to yourself: tugging at Chan’s sleeve is not enough to wake him up.

“Good morning, samchon,” you greeted with a pursed smile as you removed your hand and placed them on the edge of the table, near the side of your head that it made your chubby cheeks appear more jutted out than ever.

It took Chan a few moments to register why you were here and when yesterday came flooding back into his head, he sighed exhaustedly and looked behind his shoulder to the clock on the night table. It was early, way too early for him to wake up.

“Why are you up so early?” He asked, putting his head back in his arms, wanting nothing more but to go back to sleep.

Yesterday was hectic enough for him, the drug trade fight and your sudden appearance took a little bit of toll on him. Things got even harder for him when he couldn’t be too loud during phone calls at night because you were sleeping only a couple of steps away from him on the couch. 

He thought about bringing the work outside somewhere else where he could express himself more freely, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave you all vulnerable in the hotel room alone either.

So he got little to nothing done yesterday and he’s got another set of responsibility on his shoulders.

“I still have school,” you mumbled.

Chan didn’t speak for a moment. He clearly wasn’t sure how school still managed to slip into your priority list but he supposed if you want to live as much of a normal life as you could, heading to school would be the easiest step.

He turned to peek at you before he sighed, “I’ll drive you, come on. Where do you study?”

“Oh, no it’s okay,” you shook your hand, “Minho said he’ll take me to school.”

Chan furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. He looked up over your shoulder for the first time and finally found Minho leaning against the closet wall with his arms crossed and an amused smile on his face.

“Don’t worry, she didn’t open the door,” Minho pointed out as he pushed himself off and walked over to the table, “I have a duplicate key card.”

“I’m sure you have one of every hotel rooms here,” Chan rolled his eyes, sitting up to lean against the back of the chair, groaning at the pain from his back.

Minho shrugged with a hum that gave you no answer to whether he really does own the key card to every room in this grand hotel or not. He glanced down at you with a bit of a condescending look, causing you to turn away with a grimace, before he turned his attention back to Chan again.

“You should get some sleep, your voice was so soft yesterday I wasn’t able to tell if you were just tired or if you’re secretly being watched,” Minho said, his eyes casting down for a brief moment, “I’m guessing it’s none of those?”

Chan flashed Minho a glare for reminding him of the disaster yesterday and Minho could only chuckle. He shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out his car keys, “Whatever, I got you covered, okay? I’ll drive her to school and come back later to haul your ass out of bed. Woojin is already dealing with the trade–”

Minho glanced down at you again and he looked up at Chan to ask for permission. When Chan nodded, he raised an eyebrow in surprise. He didn’t expect Chan to break the lie this quick but having you know about the truth would be more convenient for everybody around the place, Minho believed.

He almost wanted to breathe out a sigh of relief having known that talking about work doesn’t have to be like they were acting under supervision, but he kept it in. “Their underboss wants to have a word with you,” Minho said, “for beating the shit out of their capo, Chan. And for god’s sake, go to Changbin for your damn hands.”

You eyed them once, shocked that you had almost forgotten about them. The purples seemed to have faded a little overnight, but the bruises were still there nonetheless. Removing your eyes from Chan’s hand, you caught eyes with him and quickly shrugged to express your indifference towards his scars.

“I will, I just didn’t have enough time yesterday,” Chan said.

Minho hummed. He took a few steps back then, ending the conversation and leaving the real deal for later, “It’s getting late, shrimp, we have to go.”

You turned around to look at Minho upon the nickname, unamused, “I have a name.”

“I know,” Minho nodded, “So are you going to move?”

You groaned and stood up. Moving over to the couch, you picked up your schoolbag and flung it over your shoulders as Minho brushed past you to head toward the door. You slipped your feet into your shoes and turned around, catching Chan’s attention by waving at him.

“See you after school, samchon,” you said softly, smiling when you saw Chan crack the smallest smile your way.

He looked away when you turned around to leave, only to be surprised by your sudden arrival again. You waddled over, a playful smile on your face as you approached him and quickly gave him a half-hug, “Mom always hugs me before I leave for school in the morning.”

You pulled away quicker than Chan could do anything about the goodbye hug, wanting to give you two comforting pats on the back and tell you to pay attention in class. And you didn’t look back this time when you rushed forward to the door to catch up with Minho.

The door shut and Chan blew out a breath of air. Tapping his fingers against the desk, he decided he wouldn’t head to sleep anymore. He stood up and walked over to the couch, where the blanket he had draped over you yesterday night was hanging off. He picked it up and threw it back on the sofa, patting it down just for the sake of it.

He walked over to the bathroom, where he had wanted to splash his face with some water to wake himself up but he stopped when he saw that the water-filled sink countertop was full of facial products, and your pajama was discarded on the ground.

Chan grumbled under his breath, bending down to pick up your clothes with a click of his tongue and turning around to throw them in the bag with his other unwashed clothes. He stared at the laundry bag for a moment then.

Maybe’s it’s time he does the laundry.

* * *

Like Chan, Minho wasn’t one to initiate conversations. The entire car ride was dead silent, with you glancing out the window to look for familiar buildings that were close to your school and Minho debating whether he should speak up or let this car ride to school be just another quiet morning for you.

But the car stopped, the sound of the road ceasing to occupy the silent air, and the awkward tension seemed to have increased a dramatic amount. And you, literally dying to just say something, decided it would be a good time for you to move around.

“So, ajusshi,” you casually spoke, unbuckling your seatbelt and moving to the middle of the car where you climbed over to sit in the front.

Minho widened his eyes and you were unsure of whether it was because you addressed him using a term that was definitely unfit for him or because you had decided to move to sit in the passenger seat when he was in the middle of the road.

“Ajusshi?” He exclaimed in disbelief, his brows furrowed as he reached out to remove the tissue box that laid on top of the passenger seat, throwing it over to the back seats.

Alright, so it was both, but mainly the first reason.

“Excuse me but do I look that old or is your math getting way worse than when you were younger and now you can’t even count my age, shrimp?” He asked, a line that conveyed zero percent question and a hundred percent annoyance.

You turned to him, your brows furrowed in disbelief, “What do you know about my math?”

“I know you suck at it,” Minho said, letting his eyes focus on the road as soon as the light turned red.

“How do you know I was bad at it?” You asked.

Minho tapped his finger against the wheel, “The damn letters you sent us every Christmas?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, trying to recall what Minho was talking about. It had been years since you stopped writing up letters before Christmas. You used to write two: a present wish list that you now know your mother actually had sent to Chan instead of Santa Clause, and a separate letter written in weird math codes inspired by a book series that you’ve fallen in love with.

The book was about spies, and you had thought the act of conveying secret messages through coded letters were the most thrilling and awesome thing anyone could ever do.

While the wish list was sent to Chan, those letters were sent to your father, who surprisingly always managed to write back before the day of Christmas so you could have the chance to read it in the morning as you tear open your presents and find literally every single thing you wrote down on the list (sometimes you wondered if Chan would have gotten you a space ship if you had asked for it).

You eyed Minho suspiciously. Those coded letters… did your mother lie to you about that too? Your heart was leaning more towards the idea of your biological father, perhaps it was because you really wanted to find some redeeming qualities in him so you could forgive him for leaving you and mom at a young age.

But your mother is dead, you had a gun pointed at you within the past twenty-four hours, and your uncle lives in a hotel for safety.

Everything turned out to be fake. When Santa Claus wasn’t Santa Claus, when the address inside the moon-locket wasn’t just another address, when Bang Chan wasn’t just another name for you to remember anymore—when things became different, it was when your heart started to coat with doubt.

“What letters? The wish lists my mom probably sent to samchon or the other one that she said she mailed to dad?” You asked.

Minho was surprised, but he suppressed any emotion that threatened to surface.

The letters were never sent to your father, your mom had always sent it to Chan, and Chan would hand it over to Minho because he was the only one patient and smart enough to decipher what seven-year-old you were actually trying to say in those letters.

He sat at the table, every week before Christmas, with the full series of the children novel and scratch papers ready to calculate the algebraic questions your fourth-grade self had came up with and link it back to whatever the numeric answer meant in the book series.

You were always a little off with every question, meaning the letters were even harder to find than they originally have to be. Not to mention your penmanship was the worst he had ever seen.

But he still did it. He solved your questions, translated them into passages, read the letter, and he made up easier questions to reply back to your the same way you wrote to him. It was Minho who did everything. But he wasn’t going to admit it.

Those letters were the only things keeping you from giving up on your deadbeat father and you needed the hope of his redemption more than he needed the credit for how much time he spent on you.

He didn’t think you deserve to have hope be stripped away from you and frankly, he did not spend so long giving you life advice on papers just to see the light drain from your eyes because of them.

Therefore, with an easy smirk, he rolled his eyes and he lied like he always does. “The letters your mother sent to your uncle. She talks shi–she talks crap about your studying all the time, especially your math.”

It took you a moment to process his words. You knew your mother update Chan about your lives from time to time with the use of letters, you just never thought she would be saying anything about you in them.

Your jaw dropped, “She did? What–why do you know about the letters? Shouldn’t samchon be the only one who gets to read it?” You reached out, your hands curled into fists and you started to hit his sides. “Samchon didn’t even say anything about it, who are you to tell me I’m stupid?”

“Hey, shrimp, one wrong turn and we both die in a car crash, is that what you want?” Minho scolded, leaning away from your hand with an annoyed look on his face.

You scoffed, pulling away and leaning against the back of the seat. After a short moment, you muttered, “I’m not stupid, I swear. I try really hard in all my classes, things just don’t stick to my head.”

Your defeated voice gave Minho chills, guilty chills more specifically. He would never be able to understand how you feel, how anyone who struggles academically feels, actually. He was born smart, a genius, one may say. He was able to grasp all kinds of concepts easily and his ability to think on his feet was admirable.

Heck, he got enrolled into university at fourteen for god’s sake and it was only because he wanted to stay a little longer in high school. If he hadn’t run away from home, he would probably still be under his parent’s strict supervision to head onto the successful millionaire path.

But perhaps that was a good thing for you. That way you knew both your mother and Chan loved you since the day you arrived at this place and they (as much as Chan could, at least) covered you up with immense care, for who you were.

 Minho only ever received attention for his intelligence, and the attention never felt like genuine love to him.

He sighed, “I didn’t mean it like that, shrimp. I’m sorry it came out that way.”

You played with your fingers with a pout on your face, but you still hummed to let him know that you were fine and his apology was accepted.

And the rest of the car ride was completely silent again until Minho finally pulled over by the gate of the school, parking in between other cars. He reached behind the grab your schoolbag, bringing it over to the front for you.

As you wore your schoolbag, looking outside at the sea of students flooding into the school, a thought that had slipped your mind came bouncing back at you. You let out a yell, startling Minho, “Oh no!”

“Can you not yell?” Minho scolded.

“Sorry, but I forgot my lunch! Samchon got me ramen yesterday and I left the takeout box in the mini fridge so I could leave some for today, ” you pouted, hitting your palm gently in frustration, “That’s what has been irking me!”

Minho rolled his eyes. Such trivial things compared to all the problems of the world, but he supposed it was a miracle you still managed to let yourself fuss over something so small. And Chan would definitely have wanted you to worry more about school during your teenage year than whether or not you’re going to be kidnapped on your way to school.

“Do you have any food?” He asked, turning over at you.

“No. I can get some food from the cafeteria but I don’t have any money either,” you breathed out a sigh, “Maybe I can just ask my friends of their lunch.”

“How much does a meal cost?” Minho asked casually, already reaching into his pocket where he fished out a small wallet. He quickly pulled out a few bucks and slightly nudged it towards you, “Is twenty dollars enough?”

Twenty dollars is enough, twenty dollars is more than enough. You could get your friends puddings with twenty dollars.

You eyed him carefully, hesitant and a little too embarrassed to take the money in his hands. You’ve only known Minho for possibly half an hour, and already taking money from him seemed too… impolite.

“Oh, please,” Minho grabbed your hand and pushed the cash into your hand, “Just take it. Get yourself some donuts or whatever for lunch, okay, shrimp?”

Oh how funny. Why were you embarrassed to take his money when Minho was already up in the sky calling you ugly pet names. And he had to pick shrimp? He couldn’t have picked something different?

You stuffed the money in your pocket, a scoff on your face, “Why can’t you just use my real name?”

“I don’t know, shrimp suits you,” Minho shrugged, “I’ll see you, shrimp!”

You grumbled under your breath as you slapped the car door shut. Looking at the window, you waited for Minho to roll it down before letting a smile set on your face, “I’ll see you later too, ajusshi.”

You giggled and quickly walked away, leaving a dumbfounded Minho in the car. For a moment, he almost had a small mid-life crisis about getting older and older as he watched more high school kids walk down the road in youthful uniforms. But he snapped out of it and instead let his eyes focus on your back, making sure you got inside the school entrance with your friend before he would start the car and leave.

He raised an eyebrow when you stopped in the middle of the front yard of the school, when you friend leaned into your ear to speak. You turned around and little and squinted your eyes, trying to see if Minho was still there, and much to your surprise, he was.

You waved at him, your arms high up in the air as you started to walk backward. Minho breathed out a sardonic laugh, shaking his head at your childish antics. “Go, go to school, get inside,” he whispered under his breath as he watched your friend turn you around and drag you inside, “I can’t wait here all day.”

Minho cleared his throat and his gaze hardened a little at his own words.

He can’t wait all day, but he probably will.

And that’s when he realized he had liked you more than he was willing to let himself do.

* * *

Woojin rubbed his eyes tiredly, having to deal with an associate of another organization member for a good couples hours and trying to maintain a more unguarded atmosphere the entire time as Chan’s sudden burst of impatience come to play.

“Why can’t you just hand them the deal and get this whole thing over with? You have to leave a bad impression with everyone and make them break any kinds of ties with us, do you?” Woojin asked.

“We can afford the loss. They are basically nothing compared to what we offered in the first deal. I don’t see a problem with breaking the deal with them, Woojin,” Chan shrugged, “I thought I was being generous, really.”

“They’re gonna head to the Parks and you know it. The more they hate us, the more that family likes them,” Woojin sighed, "Not to mention they have an alternative option now, their target doesn’t have to be you anymore. And frankly, if they want to get morbid with this, which they already have, they can.”

Chan gaze darkened a little at the thought of the on-going family rivalry. Could it even be considered a rivalry anymore? There was no same objective going on in this feud. It was just them trying to destroy each generation of Chan’s family while Chan tries his best to stay the hell away from them in the midst of this mess.

And Woojin was right. The more enemies they make, the more indirect allies the Parks make. To hell with oath and loyalty, that family just wanted people who also wanted the whole Bang family tree to turn to dust.

“What are you saying?” Chan asked, turning to the side to face his trusted friend.

“I’m saying the reason why they haven’t tried anything at all for the past years was because they were waiting for you,” Woojin explained, “To have a child to carry on the future generation and when they grow up, they can open fire, take you and your wife out. And the cycle continues with your child, your grandchild and so on.”

“And by an alternative option, I meant your sister, who’s already dead. So that leaves–”

“(Name),” Chan said, closing his eyes in annoyance, “Oh this is my fault, this is all my fucking fault.”

Not only would you be a way easier target, but you would also be the more sensible target. They wouldn’t spend the time waiting for you to grow up and find a boyfriend and get yourself a kid, so they won’t even give you a chance to do that.

And merely thinking about you losing your life at such a young age was enough to send another batch of guilt down Chan’s throat. Not to mention Chan had always believed that the family feud started because of him. Because he was reckless at five-years-old and his grandfather killed someone important when he was trying to save him, who got kidnapped after deciding it would be okay to head outside and play by himself.

Woojin sighed, “Chan, how many times do I have to tell you none of this happened because of you.”

“Yes it did, who am I kidding,” Chan toyed with the tip of the paper knife, “I should have stayed the fuck at home.”

“Chan, you can’t blame God for everything,” Woojin stood up, marching over to the table and sitting across from a very defeated Chan, “Looking at the big picture is good, it’s wise. But sometimes, searching too far back to find the roots of the problem is not a good thing.”

“Sure, maybe your grandfather would have never needed to kill anyone in the first place if you had just stayed at home, but he chose to shoot someone when there were obviously plenty of other options for him and that was his fault, not yours,” Woojin said, his voice low in assurance.

Chan looked at Woojin for a brief moment before he pursed his lips, and he finally dropped the knife. Rubbing his hands together, Chan leaned forward to glance at the clock. It struck five over half an hour ago, causing him to furrow his eyebrows in caution.

He pointed at himself, at Woojin, and outside the door. Minho was in another room, most likely facing the computer screens and Changbin was probably nose-deep in a book.

And you were at school if he was not mistaken.

“When do high school kids usually get off?” Chan asked.

Seeing Chan’s sudden hurried state, Woojin turned around to glance at the clock before realization hit him. “Usually around three o'clock, but detention usually keep the kids until six,” he said, trying to lighten Chan up a little after seeing that he was already getting up from knowing it had already been a good two hours and still no news from you at all.

“Shit, my car keys,” Chan turned back to the desk abruptly after feeling the lack of weight in his jean pocket. He looked over his desk, feeling more and more worked up after finding nothing but a couple of picture frames, an almost empty beer bottle and a paper knife laying on top.

Curses left his lips as he looked through his drawers, his movements getting more frantic by second as he fumbled through papers and files. And Woojin watched, his eyes flashing with disappointment and almost a kind of sympathy.

Chan wasn’t himself after you arrived, the change from thoughtful and calm to pure paranoia and impatience happened as quick as a snap of his fingers. Woojin understood that. He could get behind why Chan would feel at least a little bit protective and worried over your well-being considering how Chan had cared for you even before your direct arrival into his life, how you really were his small bundle of joy.

Besides, Woojin most possibly has gotten his fear spiked up even more by talking about the Parks just a few moments ago. And he knew very well Chan couldn’t handle the possibility of your death, not after his family’s and especially not during a time when he was supposedly capable of preventing it from happening.

But this wasn’t the time for Chan to get timid. That kind of fear he has for your safety will ultimately get you killed because it makes him irrational and slow.

What Chan needs to do is be his normal self.

“Chan, you didn’t drive here, Minho drove you here,” Woojin said, walking over to put a hand on Chan’s shoulder and turning him around. “Can you calm down a little and stop looking for your keys, they’re not here. And (Name) will be fine. We will go get her right now.”

Woojin pushed Chan’s back, making him walk forward, just as the door to the office swing open. And for a moment Chan thought it would be someone, anyone, with the news of your kidnapping or your death or anything along the lines of those. But his eyes cast downwards a little and finally, they landed on your face.

“Oh, hey samchon! Hi ajusshi,” you waved with one hand, the other supporting the drink that you were currently sipping away from.

Woojin paused his movements and his train of thoughts at the honorific term. He wanted to speak up about it, the way Minho did when he waltzed into the room complaining about how you had basically called him an old man, but it wasn’t like you were wrong. You two were a good ten years apart, probably more than that. It seemed a more normal term to use than what you would usually call your close friends.

Chan relaxed, exhaling a whole chest of worries out his lips when you smiled at him from the doorway, “Hey, kid, how is school?”

“School is fine, boring but when is it not? Anyway, samchon, look what I got for you!” You waddled over quickly, holding the plastic bag up. Placing your drink on top of the table, you reached into the bag and pulled out a green-colored drink, handing it to Chan who hesitantly took it. “I don’t know what flavor you like so I got you honey green tea, it’s the safest choice and also really easy to make at home!”

Chan glanced down at the icy drink. He had only drunk these sweet tea drink when he was younger, now he daily beverage only include water, wine, and beer. Honey green tea sounded so out of place that he was reluctant to take a sip, but seeing your expectant eyes, Chan could only nod.

“So? Do you like it? It’s good right?” You said, eyes wide and beaming.

Chan scrunched up his face, letting the overly fresh taste trickle down his throat, “It’s very sweet, how much syrup did they add?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know, but I can order half sweet next time…” Turning around to get your own drink, you held it up to Chan’s face, “Do you want to try mine? Mine’s caramel milk tea–ah, no, that’d just be more sugary.”

“It’s fine, you can finish your own, kid, and I’ll… I’ll finish mine,” Chan placed the cup at the edge of the table, “Where were you? When did you get off school?”

You scratched the back of your head, “I got off school at three. And then I went to get the drinks because Minho…” you looked around as if searching for him for a moment before returning your attention to Chan, “He gave me lunch money but I didn’t use it up, so I went to the store near the school to get these drinks. They’re really cheap and really good, it’s a deal. And then I actually went all the way back to the hotel by taking the train and I walked a few blocks–ooh! Samchon!”

“Yeah?” Chan asked, watching as you took off your schoolbag and pulled a small leaflet out of the smaller section attached to the lower end of the bag. 

You opened the paper up to show him the menu from a coffee shop you came across when you were walking along the street you saw yesterday night, the one right near the grand hotel. 

“Can we go here? They have really pretty cakes and look at this, they have special drinks!”

Woojin took a few steps back, his eyes focused on Chan. When he hit the chair behind the desk, he slowly sat down and paid attention to the scene unfolding before him with utter amusement.

Your attention span was as expected of a typical teenager: short. You talk fast and focus on whatever fascinates you the most, sometimes straying away from the main topic to talk about something you remembered mid-sentence.

The way you communicate was none at all like the way everyone who was inside this building talk: quick to the point and precise. Watching as Chan struggle to keep up with you and trying to not rush you to answer was definitely the most intersting thing Woojin had seen all week.

“We don’t even have to go there, we can just order take out! Please? I want to try it! Oh, I can take so many pictures!” You beamed, causing Chan to tilt his head to the side with a defeated expression.

“Yeah, okay,” he replied curtly.

You let out a smiling noise, “Thank you! Oh, I already know what I want to order! Oh, right, what happened later. So I went to the hotel and I went up, but you weren’t in the room so I thought maybe you would be back sooner or later, but I waited for half an hour and no one came by the corner at all, so I deiced to leave and I took the train again to get here. You live really far away from where you work, samchon, why?”

Woojin laughed as Chan sucked in a breath, trying to come up with a normal answer, something better than not wanting to be found out and killed. That wasn’t a question you expected an answer from.

“It adds to the safety, (Name), so he’s harder to track,” Woojin popped into the conversation, finally.

You nodded understandingly, “Ah, okay then. That’s needed, I guess. But the school is really so far away from there. I had to wake up extra early today morning, and somehow Minho comes at the right time.”

“You sound like you don’t like him that much,” Woojin said, spinning on the rolling chair.

“Well, he calls me shrimp and I’m nothing like a shrimp,” you replied, an annoyed expression plastered on your face, “I don’t dislike him though, if he said anything to you. Aside from the nickname, he was really nice to me. He gave me lunch money.”

Chan, who finally let his guard down after the small rambling of the coffee shop you had just given him, turned to Woojin for a moment, “Is the hotel really that far away?”

Woojin homed thoughtfully, “I’m not sure. I don’t particularly know since I’m always the one driving. I guess she has the time to count out the distance since she doesn’t have much to do in the passenger seat. But from the hotel to her school, definitely. Your sister moved as far away from here as possible, Minho probably had to use the freeway in the morning today.”

Chan pursed his lips together. There could be two options: you change school or he moves to live somewhere else. Changing school would most likely take a toll on you, having to catch up with the school curriculum and get used to the environment. Not to mention, having to leave your friends would be the worst thing out of all.

“I mean… I guess I can move?” Chan suggested slowly.

Woojin raised an eyebrow, “Are you for real? You want to move?”

“Maybe? It sounds so inconvenient,” Chan said, nudging his head your way, “for the kid. I mean, she says she likes to bake and there is no kitchen in the hotel room. She’s sleeping on the couch right now.”

Woojin’s gaze briefly landed on you, who has already engrossed in the text conversation and the music in your ears. He leaned in, “It’s fine, but if you’re gonna move, you better get a good house or a safe apartment estate.”

“Well, we’ll get someone on it then,” Chan said, “An apartment estate it is.”

Chan did the laundry today.

And now he’s moving home too.


	3. meet you on the moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried my best at fight write, it’s really not my strong suit. I’m sorry this took so long, I hope I didn’t make too many mistakes.
> 
> Warning: curses, violence, blood, and shrimp sees her mother here.

You had plugged in your earphones when you were having dinner alone by the window pane in the hotel room, but you didn't play anything. You kept your eyes focused on the street outside and let your heart wander away, letting Chan's voice act as background noise. Something you didn't want to pay attention to but somehow your ears seemed to have lingered on his conversation.

Chan was talking in normal volume on the phone by the desk, the same spot he slept in the other night, with whoever it was on the other end of the line. He wasn't particularly aggressive with his tone, perhaps because you had been sitting on the sofa and eating away on a bento box Minho headed out to grab for you (and much to your dismay, the shrimp dumplings are very delicious) or perhaps nothing too severe has happened yet.

You couldn't get on with what he was talking about since you were never exposed to Chan's line of work, but picking up the little snippets of his reply, you could tell the water was warm for now.

But still, Chan sounded lethal for some reason. His nonchalant tone matching with phrases like "Do you understand?" or "You know the rules, do what you have to do." Phrases that came in a drastically different context and resulting in a completely different reaction when spoken by different people, with Chan being on the morbid side of the spectrum, was putting you off.

When you started on your schoolwork after taking a prolonged shower to shake off the negative thoughts, Chan seemed to have noticed the way the tip of your pencil kept trailing back and forth on one sentence before it made it down one paragraph of the article, and he suspected that your distracted sense has something to do with him talking on the phone right across from you.

"Hold on," Chan muttered to the phone before he pulled it away from his ear and stood up from the chair. You glanced up from your reading material, looking at him questioningly. Your eyes were tired, Chan could tell, and it bothered him that he couldn't tell if the stress came from him or from school. "Are you okay, kid?"

"Yeah, just... homework," you pointed at the paper with a forced smile.

He looked at you for a moment, trying to access more hints on what you might need, but all you did was look at him with half-opened eyes. He hummed, moving over to look at the article written fully in English. There were light marks of translation that he suspected you had done in class, but other than those, all you did was underline words that you picked from the review worksheet that you had laid next to the article paper.

Chan raised an eyebrow, "Is this for English?"

You nodded with a slight groan at the mention of a class you have come to struggle immensely with, "Yeah. It's annoying, I don't think the teacher expects us to actually read the whole thing. We just have to finish this and have a discussion in class tomorrow."

Chan contemplated for a moment. The electronic clock was showing him big fat eleven on its screen and come to think of it, since arriving at the hideout base, you had been stuck in the room with Minho, who you had reluctantly asked for help with tutoring. It had been at least six hours now and still, you were not done with school work.

His eyebrows furrowed, jumping back and forth between whether it was because the workload was too much or too hard, or perhaps both? Either way, it was taking up too much of your time and you still have to wake up extra early tomorrow to head to school. You should be sound asleep by now if you want the energy to pay attention in classes tomorrow.

"Okay," Chan heaved a small sigh as he placed his phone back near his ear, muttering lowly about dealing with the situation at another time before he hung up and dropped the phone on the table.

Moving over to your side, he placed his hands on each side of your shoulders and guided you up, causing you to look behind your shoulder at him, confusion written all over your face. Ignoring your questioning gaze, Chan reached over to feel the top of your head and he grimaced at your wet strands of hair.

"Don't you blow-dry your hair after taking a shower?" He asked, moving you over to the bathroom.

"No, it's too time consuming and I don't want to do it. Besides, I heard it's better for you to let your hair dry naturally," you pointed out.

Chan chuckled, "Ah, well, that was not what my mother used to tell us. If you want to let your hair dry naturally, that's fine. But I'm not letting you go to sleep with wet hair. Trust me, you'll start getting headaches when you grow older."

"Then let me wait until I get older then I'll deal with it," you retorted dismissively, "I still have to analyze this, I'm not going to sleep yet."

"I'll help you with the article, okay? What you really need right now is sleep because Minho's going to be here early in the morning tomorrow to drive you to school and I'd rather you pay attention in class than get in trouble for dozing off," Chan said, pushing you inside the bathroom and grabbing the hairdryer that was attached to the wall.

You eyed the machine in his hand with an unwilling pout before looking back up at him, "I don't feel like drying my hair though."

"Then I'll do it for you, easy. Sit down," he pulled out the cushioned chair from under the dressing table that was located by the wall of the huge bathroom and urged you to sit down with a small nudge of his chin.

You rolled your eyes at his persistence but did as you were told. Chan rolled both his sleeves up to his forearm, showing the silver chain bracelet that dangled around his wrist. Out of the corner of your eyes, you swore you saw a small symbol of a half-moon attached to one of the bracelets, but you decided to ask nothing of it when Chan turned on the hairdryer.

The hot wind blew at your face for a moment and you squinted your eyes until Chan removed the machine from your face to the top of your head. His hand raked through your hair clumsily as he attempted to remember the last time his mother helped him out with drying his hair.

"Woojin is definitely better at this than I am," he spoke with a small laugh, "But you're stuck with me for now."

You could barely hear him through the blowing sounds and your own sleepiness so you only nodded with a neutral expression, watching Chan's arms through the mirror and occasionally at yourself, the images schemed through your brain quickly due to your lack of focus from the drowsiness.

"Samchon," you called, wanting to stir up a conversation to keep yourself awake, "When are we going to move? Supposedly you're not buying an apartment the traditional way."

Chan raised an eyebrow, somehow able to hear you loud and clear, "Most likely by the end of this week. Woojin and I are going to work on getting the apartment and signing some papers, and then I will send someone to get your stuff from your old home."

He paused for a moment, his saddening eyes focused on the top of your head, "That is if you still want your room the way it was before. I am completely fine with it if want a brand new room. We don't have to get your old things."

You weren't sure when Chan started to talk as if your mother was already dead. He was still fixated on finding her when you two first met and he had told you that living with him would only be a temporary thing, but you had known better than that, as much as you hate to. Chan might have caught onto that too, that despite your wishful thinking, you knew the truth. And you were trying to get over it.

You gulped hardly and shrugged, "I want a new room. I want to re-decorate everything."

Chan nodded without a hint of hesitation, "Okay then. We can head somewhere after school tomorrow and get you a new desk, a nice bed, a book shelve. Anything you want in your room."

"Anything I want..." you whispered under your breath, a small excited smile appearing at your lips as you already started to create a mental image of what your ideal room could look like and what you have to get in order to achieve that.

Your eyes rolled up in contemplation then and quickly, your brows furrowed, "That's a lot... maybe I should just move everything. It's too expensive to get everything new."

"Nothing I can't afford," Chan hummed, sliding his hand down to the ends of your hair and bringing it closer to the dryer, "Just get what you want, okay kid? Don't worry about it."

You pursed your lips together, your eyes casting upward to look at Chan for a brief moment before they landed back down at your hands, where your fingers had long started to pull at the hem of your shirt in nervousness. There was a guilted expression on your face that Chan knew all too well about. It was the same look that flashed before all three of his friends when he had offered them help with their personal life back in the days.

He held back a proud smile as his gaze softened. You were feeling guilty, he couldn't guarantee the reason behind it but if he has to guess, he would believe that you felt bad for being such a burden. Not that you were, of course, Chan was more like willing to take you under his care if that meant having a family member around.

Aside from wanting you to know that your presence hasn't been much of a problem to him, Chan was happy that you feel bad about how things had unfolded for the two of you, for your family. It was a sign. The first time you feel bad for being bothersome to your family is the moment you start growing up.

And you were growing up. Maybe a little too quickly, and Chan just prayed that you could do it healthily and safely. That was all he wanted.

Chan fingers gently soothed out your hair a couple more times before he started feeling the light heaviness of your head and he found himself having to angle your head back up a few times after you dozed off, your head lunging forward to the air or leaning back against his stomach.

He looked at your sleepy eyes through the mirror, humming a little in acknowledgment at your drowsiness. "Go to sleep after I finish drying your hair, okay?" He commanded with a calming voice, adjusting the power of the hairdryer to give it more power so he could finish up with the task quicker.

You blinked a few times, trying to keep your eyes open for as long as you could but the icky feeling in your eyes called for you to head straight to bed instead. With a barely audible reply and a few curt nods, you gave in to the exhaustion and let yourself fall back, the back of your head bumping against Chan's front.

He chuckled, letting you lean against him for a temporary sleep. It took a few more minutes before Chan could be sure that you wouldn't be heading to sleep with any drops of water in your hair. He placed the hairdryer back to its place before tapping your shoulder to wake you up.

You did so groggily, your brows furrowed as you tried to move out of the bathroom with your eyes closed. Carefully, you stepped away from the doorframe and the corner of the closets, and you made your way to the couch.

Flipping open the blanket, you slipped under the warm cover and sunk into the fluffy pillow, breathing out a content sigh when you were completely drowned in the comfort of the soft couch.

Chan headed out not too long after, turning off the bathroom lights on his way out and stopping before the actual bed in the room. Confused by the lack of occupants on the bed, Chan turned his head over to you and he lightly gasped upon the remembrance of you choosing to sleep on the couch instead before he softened at the sight.

You opened your eyes a little when you heard footsteps approaching and you moved your head up a little to look at Chan, who later crouched down to your eye-level instead. You sniffed, snuggling further into the covers, "I still haven't finished my homework."

Chan hummed, "I'll help you with it this time. It's been a few hectic days for you and I can tell you are still trying to get used to things. Just don't expect help from me after a while, when our condition gets better, okay?"

You stared into space for a moment, digesting his words carefully. And you had wanted to retort, to tell him you weren't the only one who has a bit of 'getting used to' that needed to be done. Chan, too, must be having a hard time, and the fact that he was taking time out of his busy life to be your guardian made you feel extremely grateful. So, to not be too much of a nuisance, you decided to simply nod.

"Good night, samchon," you mumbled, your eyes closing.

The next morning, when you woke up, and Minho once again barged in without a warning (but he got you bento box for school so you thanked him for it), Chan was sleeping with his head on the desk with a hastily analyzed article pressed underneath his folded arms.

* * *

You were plenty surprised when Chan appeared to be fetching you off school today (he wasn't going to let himself freak out like last time anyway), with Changbin—who you've barely talked to—sitting in the passenger seat. You remembered talking to him about moving out of the hotel yesterday night and mentioning about how you wanted to give your room a complete redo if you were to have a new room, so to not remind yourself too much of your old life now that you were going to have to live with Chan.

He kept telling you it was only temporary, but you both knew it was just a comforting device he used to give you the benefit of the doubt, and perhaps to give himself some solace. The truth lingered in his sympathetically pained gaze whenever he talked about your family and when the topic eventually led to your mother. You stopped asking too much about it as you caught on to his dismay.

"Ikea?" You muttered under your breath, your tone funny as you looked at the refreshing mix of yellow and blue. Turning your head to the side, you looked up at Chan as he finally caught up to you, "We're shopping at Ikea?"

Chan looked down at you with a moment of thought before he nodded, "Yeah... why? Do you have anything else in mind?"

You quickly shook your head, "No, Ikea's fine. I just thought it's a little normal? I thought we are going to wander around some underground furniture shop, you know, like the black market?" You held up your arm defensively as if to look out for potential attackers that could be hiding within the shadows of what you believed to be the black market.

"What do you think the black market is, (Name)?" Chan hummed fondly at your misconception, finding it rather humorous as no one around him has ever thought of it that way before (at least not to his knowledge).

"I don't know. It's like a market but it's more monochromatic and people don't say they buy stuff, they say they trade stuff—I can see you laughing at me, Changbin," you leaned your body forward so Changbin's full face could come into view. You jabbed your finger his way, scoffing, "I know it's not really an actual thing, okay? I know it's a saying for the underground economy! I'm just thinking maybe there is a place where all of you head to for trading... whatever..."

You huffed gently, peeling your eyes away from Changbin's suppressed snicker and once again walking ahead of the two inside the building. The artificial smell of flowers wafted beneath your nose as soon as you stepped into the other side of the automatic entrance doors and the air conditioning hit your skin, giving you a cooling contrast from the blazing sun in the outdoor parking lot.

You shivered slightly, feeling the light bumps on your skin as a result before rubbing your hands up and down either side of your elbows. You really should have brought your school sweater, like what Chan had told you before stopping the car.

"Okay, where to first?" Chan appeared by your side, asking as his head twisted and turned to look around. His natural habit of counting all the doors and finding potential hiding places still managed to kick in despite being in such a tension-free place with screaming children holding plushies too big for their frame and mothers pushing trolleys filled with cushions and candles down the aisle.

You hummed, looking up at the direction board carefully, getting yourself familiarized with the signs. Words came out of your mouth in a low murmur, you tilted your head to the side a little with your eyes still trained on the sign above but your head reached out to tug at the hem of Chan's sleeve, "I want to look at desks. I kind of want one of those desks where there is a bed attached on top if you know what I mean?"

As you dragged Chan along with you towards whichever direction you got off from the sign, you started to talk about how you had wanted to decorate your room the same way you disused it with your friends during lunch break. Chan wasn't listening much to what you were saying, his brows furrowed uneasily as you went on and on.

He encounters this feeling once in a while when you two chatted, or more specifically when you started to talk about things you were interested in. Chan wasn't sure why you feel the need to tell him every little thing you came across on the internet, whether it was a funny dog video or a joke—either way, he never knows how to properly react to them except for letting out a hum or faking a laugh.

It gets harder when you started to branch into a whole article about what it was and why it was funny, and more than half the time you stray far far away from your original topic which caused you to kick off a whole new conversation.

Perhaps teenagers talk like that nowadays, fast and distracted. Chan just could not keep up with you sometimes. He was the type to focus on one thing and one thing solely. The way you manage to talk about how you wanted pink bedsheets, then jump into why you believe pink is the best color, and bouncing back to why you wanted pink bedsheets—it was beyond him, all he could hear was pink and bedsheets.

When you left his side and ran towards an aisle of night lights instead of what you have been talking about, which was bedsheets if you needed help to jump back on track, Chan found himself breathing out a heavy sigh of relief as he reached his hand up to rub the back of his neck tiredly.

Approaching him quietly from behind and finally standing next to him, Changbin let out a sympathetic laugh, "It's always funny to see you try parenting."

Chan rubbed his eyes then, blinking to keep himself alert and making sure you stayed within his eyesight, "I'm no good at it. I don't know how my sister did it."

"Hey, I didn't say anything about you not being good at it, I just said it was funny," Changbin said, "Parenting is hard. Heck, I am standing here with you holding a basket instead of sitting through a lecture, that should tell you a thing or two."

"It tells me your parents are abusive assholes and they didn't even try. It's not the same," Chan said, but nonetheless, he patted Changbin on the shoulder, silently thanking him for attempting at comfort.

There was a moment of silence, a conflicted silence where Changbin once again found himself caught in between wanting to defend his parents' actions towards him and knowing very well what they did were wrong. He had been so used to being told he was the one at fault that until today, he still has trouble remembering nothing was ever really his fault.

"My parents didn't love me," Changbin spoke after he glanced at Chan. His eyes widened just a fraction upon seeing the look on his friend's face, a face with worried wrinkles and patient eyes. He watched as Chan's gaze trailed after your figure as if the mere idea of you getting lost in the crowd would make him absolutely lose it.

It was a look Changbin never saw on his parents.

"But you love her, so I'd say that is already a very great start," he lightly shoved Chan's shoulder, "Don't be so hard on yourself, and for god's sake this is Ikea, not an underground tunnel. Kid's old enough to hold herself in a place like this."

Chan broke away from his attentive trance and finally decided to crack a faint smile at Changbin, who nudged his head towards your direction as you skipped your way back to them with two boxes held in your hand.

"Samchon look, it's a night light," you held the box up a little, shaking it in his face, "I think it's about twenty dollars but it's super cute. They are in lantern style and they have little floral patterns."

"Oh, that's... that's good."

"Are they worthwhile though? These pretty things don't last," Changbin mumbled, but he held out the basket for you to put the boxes in anyway. "Why don't you get the plain ones? They're cheaper and most likely won't break within the first few weeks of you using it."

"It's fine, I told her to get whatever she wants," Chan scrunched up his eyes a little, giving Changbin a little shrug before he turned to you, "Are you getting two of them?"

"Yeah, but one of them is for you," you said, "I don't know what color you want so I got you a warm toned one. Like kind of white but beige at the same time–actually, you come and pick one yourself," you leaned down to grab the box then, nudging your head to the back when Chan didn't budge.

"I don't really need one," he muttered under his breath with a shake of his head.

Your arms dropped to your side as you eyed him with distaste in your eyes and for a good second you just looked at him, almost urgently, your head nudging backward as low strings of whispers left your lips.

"It's good for your sleep, I promise," you persuaded. But Chan still stood solid on the ground, confusion etched on his face. You groaned then, in annoyance mostly, as you dropped the box back into the basket, "Never mind, I'll just get two for myself."

"Okay, why? You really don't need two of the same thing, (Name)," Changbin asked.

"I feel like it," you replied curtly.

And also because pretty things don't last.

* * *

The trip to Ikea didn't take too long. At least it didn't feel too long, mostly because you had in mind what you wanted your room to look like already so you didn't have much problem choosing between everything that was displayed on shelves or hung on the walls. Also because Changbin could not stop interfering with your color choices even after you told him about the choice of your color theme for your new room, and you were more busy trying to come up with retorts than trying to pick what kind of desk lamp you wanted.

"How was shopping, you girls?" Minho asked when he saw the three of you approaching the building. Turning his gaze to your scoffing expression, he raised both eyebrows in amusement and proceeded to slap Woojin's cigarette down onto the ground. "Why the long face, shrimp? Is nothing on sale?"

You did a dramatic eye roll, groaning as you turned around to walk back to Chan, who you chose to stand behind so he could block out your form from everyone.

Woojin, who was originally yearning for the dropped cigarette on the ground, stomped on it a few times as he looked up at Chan and gave him a nod of acknowledgment. "Chan," he called out, "I need to talk to you about something. You cut me off on the phone yesterday."

Chan nodded silently, reaching behind him to put his hand on your head and pushing you forward so you stop trailing behind him in an almost rushing manner. You frowned, ducking your head to get away from his grip as you stumbled your way into the building, making your way to the office that you had often stayed in whenever you stayed long after school ended.

The atmosphere inside the building was still as quiet and eerie as ever. It had always been like this, from the first time you've been here and until now, and you doubted that it would ever change for you even with the presence of the people you trust.

Your footsteps were light as you made your way across the marble tiles to the end of the hallway. You took a sharp turn, heading right to where the door of the office was. It was slightly ajar when you got there, surprisingly, and with a gentle tug at your lips, you pushed the door open.

You hadn't paid much attention to what you were seeing in front of you, mostly because your mind had been wandering back to your argument with Changbin the entire time. And when you saw a familiar face and a familiar body, you could register that the seemingly dead woman who had her mouth hung open and a tight noose around her neck was definitely your mother.

And hanging around her neck another thing was a cardboard, tied with ropes again, with threatening words written messily on it.

But you couldn't quite react. It hit you too fast.

And a hand came before your eyes. Chan immediately clamped your eyes shut by pushing his palm against them, bringing you back until your head hit his body. His eyes were shaking, darting around his room to look for any signs of potential danger before his gaze focused back on his sister's dead body, swinging lightly in the air.

Chan willed himself to keep his emotions away. An emotional uncle wasn't what you need right now—it wasn't what he needs right now. He needed to put on a strong face, for your sake and for the purpose of persuading himself that he didn't care.

Unemotionally, clinically. It was how he should deal with situations like these.

"Mom..." You breathed out quietly, your trembling hands slowly reaching up to grab a hold of Chan's hand, unsure to whether you want to keep it there or to pry it away to look.

Woojin cursed when he approached, looking into the room with a faint curiosity that died down as soon as he saw the body. Giving you a quick glance, he pursed his lips and looked back up at Chan, whose expression should be unreadable to most but to him, after spending so much time with him in all kinds of situations ranging from peaceful to tense, Chan was almost like an open book now.

Woojin turned around and motioned for Minho and Changbin before quickly returning back to Chan, who still had his eyes focused on his front and his expression more pained than a second ago when he felt your fresh tears against the skin of his palm. Woojin stepped close, pushing Chan to the side, "Get her and yourself out of here."

Chan sucked in a deep breath to calm himself down inwardly. He nodded with a slow turn of his head, bringing you with him and making sure he cranked your head to the side so you wouldn't have to see the way your mother looked.

"Come on, baby, let's go," he walked to his left and opened the door to a room where they usually held group meetings. Shutting the door behind him, he let go of you before leaning his back against the door and reaching his hand up to his eyes, pressing the heel of his palm against them.

That was one more slash to the family tree. He had expected this to happen and he really thought he's got himself prepared for the news to come at one point or another when a week has passed and there were no signs of his sister. And perhaps you had known too despite Chan constantly trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, to drill the hope into you while he kept the despair within himself.

Chan withdrew his hands, letting them drop to his sides so he could make sure you were fine, and you obviously weren't. Tears flew silently down your cheeks as you stared ahead at the wall, your eyes abnormally big but they weren't moving. It was like you were frozen solid and the only wires running were the acknowledgment in your head and your flowing tears.

It hit home a little too close. He was exactly like that when he watched his little brother get shoved by a car in front of him, the first death he had ever witnessed. He didn't yell or scream, he wasn't frightened. It was just shock and numbness all over his body, taking over his brain. And he looked at the spot the little boy had been standing in, pretending he was still there.

And then it was his grandfather, and then his parents, and his father's right-hand man who took over the parenting job. At some point, he knew how to move, to turn his head and leave. At some point, he was the one doing the kill, and he walked away with complete detachment.

Chan didn't want that to be you. If you do grow up to have enough closed ones for you to lose.

The door opened without a warning then. You snapped your head to the side, finally feeling a tiny bit of fear rising within you as you moved away from the entrance quickly. Chan braced a hand over your figure, his other hand swiftly pulling out a gun from under his jacket and pointing it towards the intruder.

You peaked your head out from behind Chan and you breathed out a sigh of relief when you saw Minho waving his hand dismissively at Chan, with Woojin and Changbin following close behind.

Woojin pulled Chan to the side to whisper something, causing you to scoff in frustration. It obviously had something to do with your mother and you felt out of place that they weren't telling you anything about the situation.

You wiped your tears away with the hem of your uniform blouse, turning away from Minho's piercing stare that seemed to convey more stoic than sympathy. You found yourself a seat by the table and sat down, turning your back on the four of them to give yourself some space.

"How did that happen? How did they manage to sneak in and sneak back out without anyone knowing?" Chan asked, pointing at the door with a hardened gaze.

"We don't know," Minho replied with a shrug, "Woojin and I had been standing at the front ever since you left–"

"For half an hour? What were you two doing there?" Changbin asked, eyeing Minho incredulously.

Minho glared at him for the interruption before he jumped right back to what he wanted to say, "No one came in and no one headed out. Someone must have used the backdoor. I'm just annoyed that no one in the building noticed, not one single person recognized an unfamiliar face."

"Minho, not everyone knows everyone's faces, it's possible," Chan pointed out, "I wouldn't be surprised either if the Parks sent someone unfamiliar to us."

Woojin held up his hand after Chan's voice dropped, "But the backdoor path would not be possible, someone was guarding the back door today."

"Again, we have people guarding the back door?"

"Changbin, literally shut up and go play with your damn scalpels," Minho said, a newfound annoyance flashing before his eyes as he spoke with menacingly.

Changbin pressed his lips together, his eyes squinted. "Fine," he said then, "Don't come crying to me when you've shot a bullet up your goddamn ass, Lee Minho."

He turned around and headed your way, choosing to sit on the chair next to yours. When he plopped down, he let out an exasperated sigh that you couldn't help but look at him for. You raised an eyebrow but you gave no further comment about the situation.

"No one went in or out the backdoor either," Woojin informed and for a moment he looked to be in deep thought before he breathed out a sigh. "Someone, or maybe a couple of them, are already in here and is still in this building."

And whoever it was got all four of them cornered in one room.

A knock came through from outside and you all turned your head over in unison. A weak voice sounded through the other side but they couldn't tell if it was all just an act of submission or it someone was holding a gun to someone's head on the other side, simply using them as bait.

The first option sounded more reasonable because whoever was dumb enough to think someone in Chan's position would really care for anyone in the whole organization, someone who loiters around the building?

Chan held up his hand, signaling for the rest to wait. Whoever was on the other side was bound to get impatient sooner or later if all they wanted was to get Chan killed and they believe they have the upper hand here, seeing that Chan was obviously cornered.

"Get out of the room, Chan."

You, seeing that Changbin had stood up and slowly made his way over to stand by everyone, had followed close behind him before you finally approached Chan. For so long you've stayed with them, this was the first time anyone posed an actual threat. Your heart hammered against your chest as you meekly grabbed a hold of Chan's hand, looking up at him with scared eyes for some reassurance.

Another knock, loudly and more demanding this time. And the voice, as Chan had expected, turned impatient, "Don't try to attack us either, we've got more people than the four of you in there and I don't think you little helpers can get down here faster than we can put a bullet through your head."

"Okay...." Chan whispered out, little to no trace of horrid in his voice. He had been in these situations far too many times for him to freeze up in fear. Cultivating a plan B in a whim was practically his part-time job now.

He shrugged off his jacket then, and you stared at him in confusion when Chan draped it across your shoulders, urging you to put it on and zipping it all the way up to conceal your school label on your blouse. "You're going to walk out of here, kid."

"What?" You fumbled with your zipper as you asked.

"They don't know who you are, surprisingly," Chan tilted his head to the side as he spoke, "And they don't have to know that now. So you're just going to walk out of this room–hey, hey, no," He placed a firm hold on your shoulders when you started to back away from him, your head shaking in refusal.

"They are here for me, not for you. As long as you play it off like it's not your problem, they won't be too suspicious of you," Chan said, "After I open the door, you're going to walk out of here and walk ahead until you find a convenience store or a bus stop, and you wait there for me, okay?"

You were hesitant, unsure of your own ability to hide your expression well enough to not spike any second glances your way, but being a burden was not on your agenda today. It was just walking, you could do that. You would do that just fine.

Your grip on Chan's wrist was tight when you nodded, and he broke into a faint smile.

"Good girl," He stood up, retrieving his hand back to his side as he shared a look with the others. Carefully, he approached the door, and with his hand firmly on the doorknob, he twisted it open slowly, making sure not to be sudden and threatening to whoever it was on the other side.

Chan ceased to flinch when he found three men standing uncomfortably close to the wooden door. His brows furrowed a little. So the rest of them were outside waiting then.

Chan stepped back then, waiting for you to move first before he does anything else. And you did, you walked with your head facing the front but your eyes casually glancing down on the ground, unable to look at the men's faces in fear that you would give yourself away.

Chan breathed out a sigh he had been holding when you left his sight, and he returned his full attention back to the people standing in front of him. Confusion emerged when he noticed the way one of them was cranking his neck to glance at his hand, maybe in search of any potential weapon? Chan wouldn't tell.

The man looked up from Chan's arm and he turned to look down the hallway, causing Chan to gulp in nervousness. "Your moon bracelet," the man started, "looks awfully like the one the girl is wearing."

"It does?" Chan said, keeping his voice calm and leveled, "It's just a coincidence."

"Yeah, we'll see," the man smirked before he turned to look behind him, giving a slight nod to the man who stood rigidly on the spot.

"Get her."

You paused in a wince when you heard a shot being fired. Turning around quickly, your eyes widened when you saw one of the men falling down to the ground. You couldn't see any blood from your distance but you somehow knew the man was dead, or at least close to it. And then everything was a blur to you, mostly due to your own fear instead of the event that was actually unfolding.

It was less dramatic than you had thought it would be. Unlike what movies had shown you, gunshot didn't really get fired aimlessly but you could hear a whole lot of body slamming on objects and painful groans that you would deem obnoxiously loud if you didn't know better.

But the churning feeling in your stomach was real, more real than anything. You had the brains to yell at characters for doing certain things when you sat on the sideline but now that you were being in the scene yourself, you became the stupid character.

Removing your eyes from the second dead body you saw, you let out a soft squeal when you saw one of the remaining two looking directly at you, his expression furious.

He pointed at you, "Grab the girl. If we can't kill him at least we have a hostage!"

Your blood ran cold at the statement and suddenly you realized pausing to look was never the best option. Not in horror movies, not in the woods, and not in real life situations. Especially not when you heard a gunshot being fired.

God damn it, you really were the stupid character.

Quickly, you turned around to run, but more people stood in front of you now. Some of them shoved past you to join the rest inside the room, leaving only one of them to deal with you, which would probably be enough because you, after having looked around for anything that could serve as a weapon, found nothing. Not even a vase or a picture frame.

You instinctively started to run when the man lunged at you. You ducked under his closing arms and pushed him to the side with your hands flat against the side of his waist, using the force as a means to push yourself forward. You rushed forward, feeling the tiniest bit of hope spark within your chest before you were pulled back by someone grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking you backward.

You yelled in pain, quickly turning around to try to get his grip out of your hair. Your arms flailed about, hitting the man across the face without giving your targeting much thoughts. The man sounded fed up from his continuous groans as he easily found an opening between your moving arms and reached out for your neck where he shoved you to the nearest wall.

You opened your mouth to suck in a desperate breathe while the pain at the back of your head cooled down at an agonizing pace. The hand you were using to hit his arm were starting to falter in strength the longer your airway was restricted and soon enough you were letting out painful, gagging noises from the back of your throat.

What to do, what to do. What do people do in situations like these? All the actions movies you've watched, all the self-defense articles you've read in your free time–you couldn't think. You were completely thoughtless, you couldn't breathe, and your eyes were watering.

A hand reached in from the side then, to grab a hold of the man's wrist and removed the choke hold around your throat. You dropped to the ground as you caught on to your breathing, feeling tears running out of your eyes from the relief that shot through your chest.

"Shrimp! Stand up and go, now!" You recognized that to be Minho's voice and you looked up to see his short figure pulling back the stranger. He eyed you once demandingly, looking back and forth at the door and at you.

You scrambled up quickly, sparing him not another glance as you scurried away. Minho returned his attention back to the attacker when he saw you leave, trying to create a distance as much as possible as he inched the two of them backward.

He made sure his hold on the man was tight enough, but soon enough he was backed up from his spot when the man regained his senses. Minho gasped when his back hit the wall, with the man's back pressed up against his front.

A hand reached up to hold onto his forearm and within a blink of an eye, he felt himself get lift up from the ground and flip forward. His back hit the ground with a heavy thud. Minho groaned, shifting through the pain to get up and reaching out to grab the man, who was set on getting to you as he was already making his way to the entrance door.

"No," Minho uttered out weakly, yanking at the man's collar despite his lack of strength at the moment.

The man turned around in annoyance. His hand moved up and slammed against the side of Minho's head, pushing his head to the wall with full force and causing Minho to collapse to the ground with a foggy haze in his eyes.

He breathed heavily, his chest heaved up and down slowly but unsteadily. The heavy sight of the man making his way to the entrance appearing faint to him. And when the idea of you being captured couldn't serve as a good enough motivation for his weak state to get the hell up from the ground, Minho could only hope you managed to hide far away enough.

* * *

Chan wiped his jaw with the side of his hand, grimacing at the blood that stained fingernails before he rubbed it down his shirt. Sidestepping the dead body that laid he had dropped on the ground, Chan made his way over to Woojin, pulling him up by the waist.

"You okay?" Chan asked, panting.

"Yeah, just–got punched pretty hard," Woojin groaned out, "Son of a bitch, he landed right on the stitches too."

A hand clamped on the door frame, catching the attention of everyone in the room. Minho stumbled in with a hand in his head, his expression unreadable as he scanned the room carefully before his gaze landed on Chan.

"(Name).... she, uh," Minho said, weakly leaning against the frame with blinking eyes, "Someone grabbed her."

Minho watched Chan's expression carefully, looking at the downward curve of his lips or the creases on his forehead. Minho breathed in at the genuine panic that trespassed into Chan's eyes and his voice as he spoke.

"What?"

"I don't–I don't know, hyung," Minho said, "I don't know if she ran far ahead or not. I managed to grab the guy and gave her some time but I don't know if it's enough for her to run away."

"You don't know... You don't know?" Chan asked, letting go of Woojin slowly. His voice raised and his eyes widened as he took a step forward.

Chan's afraid, his mind stopping for a moment before quickly going haywire at the possibility of what could happen to you.

The cycle was continuing. You were going to end up like everyone else and it was going to be his fault.

Everything was his fault.

"Chan," Woojin placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, "Calm down."

Chan turned around abruptly, his eyes wide and a gasp hanging on the tip of his tongue. Woojin shut his mouth at his shaky eyes, having not seen Chan be in this state for a long time that he almost forgot how he felt the first time he had seen that kind of panic being shown.

"Chan," Woojin said quietly.

"I can't, hyung," Chan shook his head faintly, his words coming out in gasping chunks, "I just saw my sister's dead body and now my niece is gone. And I–I don't know what's gonna happen to her! She could be dead already, I don't–I can't do this, I won't do this again."

"Okay," Woojin let Chan grab his arm, even though he was unconsciously sinking his fingers into his skin, "We're gonna go find (Name), okay? We're going to look around the area, maybe she ended up in a coffee house. Alright? We're gonna go out right now, and Minho," Woojin looked up at the tired boy who slumped against the door, "Deal with these, please."

* * *

Your hands were cuffed soon before the man threw you in the backseat of a van when you kept on trying to swat your hands around and dig your nails into any surface you could find on his body. But he didn't tape anything over your mouth when you kept begging for him to let you go. He shut you up completely by pointing a gun to your face.

You had winced, the memory of Woojin doing that to you flooding back quickly. It was strange how you had almost forgotten about that incident. He was only ever calming and reliable, also caring in extremely subtle ways that you would miss it if you weren't paying attention.

Now you couldn't even begin to imagine Woojin holding a gun at all, at least not to your face, that was.

You leaned against the car door, wanting to bang on the window but knowing absolutely no one would be able to hear you. The windows were tinted so outsiders couldn't look in and hopefully find your tear-stained cheeks to be troublesome. And cars were zooming past too quickly for you to slide open the door and jump out. You would certainly die if you do that.

You really looked for everything you could have done and there was always some kind of loophole to your plan.

The metal around your wrists was starting to feel heavy with each turn of the car, reminding you with each heartbeat that you were taken away and whatever lies before you would most likely be as uncomfortable as the dulling pain of your wrist bone.

You scratched your skin again, feeling more tears at the line of your eyes as they dropped down to your hands, the rapid beating of your heart long mixed in with them together.

You reached your hands up then, pulling apart your hands as much as the links allow you to and rubbing both of your eyes to get rid of the tears.

Your eyes squinted at your hands for a moment. You were looking at it, in deep thoughts as you pulled your hand apart again to give yourself a good measure of how wide you were allowed to move your hands.

This could work. Possibly. Just think, (Name), think carefully.

Sniffing, you eyed the man who was busy driving to make sure he wasn't looking at the rearview mirror before you slowly leaned forward to the driver's seat, preparing to get at him from the back. You looked outside then, waiting and waiting before you saw your chance as he was about to make a turn on the road with enough pedestrian on the street to create a fuss that would enable you to slip away unnoticed.

You breathed quietly but deeply, counting down in your head as you pulled your hands apart until you could feel the restraint marking your skin. Your eyes were wide, focused on the road.

On three.

_One._

_Two._

"Three!" You whispered as you raised your hand up quickly, making sure your arm went over the driver's seat and over the man's head before you slammed it down on his shoulder and pulled back with all your body weight.

The man gagged when the link of your handcuff pressed hard against his neck, his head hitting the back of the seat. The sudden panic that sparked up inside of him made his hand move, causing his car to swerve in the middle of the road.

"You bitch!" He reached out with a free hand to grab his gun, pointing behind him and started to aimlessly shoot.

You screamed at the threateningly loud shots, quickly dropping to the ground with your head buried in between your arms, bringing your hands down with you and thus choking the man even more with the handcuffs.

"Son of a–" The man threw the gun away when it ran out of ammo. He shoved his hand in the nearest container he could find and pulled out a small pocket knife, pulling it out and perfectly jamming it to the middle of your hand.

You gasped out at the piercing pain. It was like pressing your finger to the sharp end of the pen when you thought it was the other way around but magnified. You could almost feel the blade slid through your flesh as it got pulled out, tears forming as you pulled at your hand with cries of the lingering pain.

Before the man could give another stab to your hand, you could feel the car move in a zig-zag motion before it stopped abruptly, and you assumed it had crashed into something hard.

You looked up quickly, finding a lamppost in front of the car and people starting to rush over to the vehicle. You swiftly removed your hands despite the aching of your would, unlocked the door and slid it open as the man was still trying to catch his breath. You dropped out to the ground, a painful smile on your face when your knees hit the rough surface.

You stood up quickly then, with one hand tentatively covering the other, and without sparing the car another look, you ran away from it despite the desperate call of strangers. And it was only when you turn into a convenience store when you stopped to catch your own breath.

You stood at the far corner of the store, right in front of the lines of refrigerators where they stored cold drinks. You leaned against the cold glass and removed your hand from your hand, your brows furrowing and a couple of soft squeal of disbelief escaped at the sight of blood oozing out of your would and the metallic smell that had probably seeped too far in your nails.

"Jesus, are you okay?"

You snapped your head to at the oddly familiar voice to find a boy looking down at you. Not just any boy, but Hwang Hyunjin, from your class.

Hyunjin's brows were furrowed in confusion, just utter confusion at the sight of you. Panting, sweaty forehead, handcuffed wrist and a lot of blood on everywhere—your uniform, your hands, your cheeks. But when he saw the look on your face, your teary eyes and quivering lips, concern slowly started to take over his mind.

"(Name)...? Woah, what happened to you?"

Your heart dropped at the sight of someone you knew, someone you could trust, and suddenly the usual cheery facade you've shown in school faded away and you tilted your head to the side, a pained expression on your face.

"Hyunjin, I–" your hand shook as you spoke, "I need help."

* * *

Hyunjin stopped when you stopped walking. He looked around the area. It was full of estate buildings and small-town shops and you recognized it to be a place near the headquarter building.

After bringing you to the hospital, where his mother apparently worked at, he pulled his mother aside to tell her about your situation, which wasn't much.

You had refused to tell him anything, only that you were stabbed with a knife and you had covered your wound up with only your bare hand.

Other than that, you refused to tell him anything about your family or contact information, fearing anything could be leaked somewhere else that could potentially put Chan and the whole business in jeopardy.

His mother decided to patch you up in secret after Hyunjin's persistent pleas, she also found tools to yank off the cuffs on your wrists, and you could not thank him more for his help and cooperation despite being left completely in the dark regarding your situation.

"Give me your phone, Hyunjin," you said, holding your hand out.

Hyunjin handed it to you reluctantly and he narrowed his eyes when he found you pressing on his phone, "What are you doing?"

You sighed, "I normally don't do this but I keyed in my phone number. Promise me you'll text me when you get home?"

"You what? You put–wait why? I'm...confused," Hyunjin's cheeks pinked at the mention of exchanging phone numbers with you, something he had never muster enough courage to ask a girl for.

"I know you are, I would explain it to you if I could but..." you pursed your lips together before shaking your head and looking back up at him, dead in the eye, "Just promise me you will text me when you get home, okay? Please?"

"Okay, I–I will," Hyunjin held up his hands in mock defense.

You smiled at him then, "Okay, now you go. I'll walk back to my place so don't follow me, alright?"

"I wasn't going to!" Hyunjin laughed awkwardly, drawing circles with the tip of his feet in an almost timid, shy way.

If you didn't know better, you would have thought Hyunjin has a crush on you.

Maybe it would be easier for him if you didn't know better.

"Thank you so much for your help, Hyunjin," you thanked him, for what was probably the millionth time at this point, and he only rolled his eyes in return.

"A handmade cupcake would be kind of nice," he said as he turned around to leave, shoving a hand in his pocket, "I heard you bake really well, that's why."

You widened your eyes, being your turn to blush at the sudden compliment despite it being a rumor of some sort.

God, if it wasn't for the hole in your hand, you really would have flirted with him.

* * *

Changbin had his chin propped on his hands as he waited in his room, looking after Minho who had fallen asleep after he had patched he wound on his head up, joking about the tiny dispute they had before everything went downhill.

Minho wasn't very keen on making jokes when his head being wobbly and he could still feel the pang of his ears, but he laughed along because he, deep down, felt bad for snapping at Changbin when he did nothing wrong. And also because he was worried about you.

The amount of concern he held over your well-being was somewhat overdramatic for him because he had only met you for barely a whole week. Perhaps your adorably naive younger self had lingered in him in forms of your spy letters, and the morning drives with you ranting about school in the passenger seat had really gotten to him.

Minho was worried even though he really shouldn't be. The thought of never being able to see your sneaky smile as you asked him to sign your failed test so Chan wouldn't have to was, despite having continuously complained about it, heartbreaking.

Minho would sign a hundred failed tests for you if he has to. And he would never admit it.

Breathing out another sigh, Minho closed his eyes in annoyance when the door burst open, thinking it was just another one of the people coming in to tell him you were nowhere to be found.

Changbin turned to the door, his once dull eyes sparked with relief when he saw you standing by the door, "Shit... hey, (Name)."

Minho turned his head to the side then, at the mention of your name, and his eyes softened.

Thank god. You're fine.

He chuckled, "You're back, shrimp."

You smiled at him, for the first time not flashing him an eye roll at the name. You nodded, "Hi ajusshi, and Changbin."

You nodded before you looked around the room. Judging by your expression, Changbin could already tell who you were looking for.

"Chan is fine, he is just going berserk looking for you," Changbin said, suppressing a shudder.

Your brows furrowed, "Oh, that's not good."

"Yeah, you think?" Minho shook his head, "What about you? What happened to your hand?"

"Oh, this... he stabbed me when I choked him with the handcuffs," you said, "I slipped away when the car hit a pole and a friend from school found me. His mom took care of it so don't worry."

"I wasn't worried," Minho muttered, placing his arm over his mouth to cover up the subtle proud smile that emerged from the knowledge of you choking back the man to escape.

You rolled your eyes, "I know. I was talking to Changbin, he cares about me–you do care about me right?"

"Yeah, about that?"

You clutched your hands in fake disappointment, stumbling back as you stared at Changbin in disbelief.

"I really thought we had a thing, Changbin. I thought we were friends, turns out you've been faking..." you turned your head to the side, your eyes skimmed past the entrance where Chan stood, and your voice trailed off, "...to... be my..."

The you who was still joking a moment ago faded as a sudden, overwhelming amount of emotion took off in your chest upon seeing the person you've looked for throughout the whole time you were taken and running away.

You pursed your lips together before letting out a soft sob, seeing as Chan started to fast walk towards your direction.

"Samchon," you ran ahead to him, only stopping when Chan had his arms around your torso and he lifted you gently off the ground, a hand at your head and the other against your back.

"Are you okay?" He asked, wanting to pull back so he could see your face but you had already found space on his shoulder, leaning your head on it as stuttered breath came out in sobs.

You nodded, "Yeah. He got me but I ran away."

He felt the weight fall off his chest then. Good, you ran away. He was afraid he would have to make a scene sooner or later, not that he hadn't already.

He held you in a tight embrace, the nightmarish feeling long gone as he felt you sob quietly on his shoulder.

"It's okay now," Chan turned to look at Woojin, giving him a curt nod when he raised both eyebrows and gestured towards you.

"I'm sorry, kid," Chan said after letting you back on the ground and pulling away.

You eyed him carefully, unsure to why he felt the need to apologize but you were sure there was a reason far bigger than just you having to go through whatever you had.

Maybe it was the death of your mother, or that he wasn't there to help you when you were struggling to escape from the van, or that he felt as if this killing cycle was all caused by him, which you had absolutely no idea of. But give it you do know about it, it wasn't going to change your answer to what he said.

You blinked up at him, sadly but also reassuringly, your clean hand nudged his that still reeked of the smell of dry blood.

"It's not your fault."


End file.
